


Hands that heal

by Gimmesumsuga



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Caring Jensen, Comfort, Comforting Jensen, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-24 00:42:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10730643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gimmesumsuga/pseuds/Gimmesumsuga
Summary: Jensen helps the reader self-care after self-harming.





	Hands that heal

The first time your doorbell rings you wilfully ignore it.  You’re not expecting anyone; it’s probably just some college kid handing out Chinese menus, and right now you’re far more focused on yourself and the task at hand.

It’s only until the bell rings a second time – louder and longer then the last – that you manage to pick yourself up off of the cold bathroom tiles you’ve been sitting on for the last hour.  You quickly balance the blade on the edge of the sink, hurry to wipe the smudges of mascara from underneath your eyes as a third ring sounds, and then gently pull your sleeve all the way down on your way to the door, wincing as the material drags on the marks you’ve left there.  

Why did someone have to choose right now to be at your door?  You just want to sit in the dark and the quiet and let yourself feel numb for a while, not have to deal with the jarring artificial light that’s seeping in from underneath your doorway.  

You switch on the light anyway before you answer, because what kind of weirdo sits in the dark on their own?

“Jay,” you start with surprise, almost even before you’ve recognised the sight of him.  His smell alone is unmistakable, and it hits you as the door swings open wide.  “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Filming’s cancelled tomorrow, figured I’d swing by,” Jensen smiles with a loose shrug, standing there looking effortlessly flawless, as always, “Surprise my favourite girl.”

“Consider me surprised,” you admit with the biggest smile you can manage.  You can barely lift your eyes from the floor to look at him but you do anyway, feeling your stomach clench as you meet that perfectly green gaze of his.  

“Gonna let me in?” He cocks his head to the side slightly, hands clasped behind his back as he gently teases your lack of functionality. “Don’t get me wrong - it’s a nice doorstep.”

“Sorry, no, come in,” you flounder, stepping back from the door with flushed cheeks, “Sorry.”  He’s still smiling as he walks through the door but as you push it shut behind him you catch Jensen looking at you closely, as if he can sense something’s amiss.  You must try harder to act like a normal human being.  

In the spirit of normality you walk straight into his arms when he opens them to you.  Who wouldn’t?  You curl your arms around his neck as he curls his around your waist, burying his face into your hair while you bury yours in his chest.  Jensen is solid and warm and you find yourself thinking that this is what safe must feel like, and you have to try very hard not to start crying again against the leather of his jacket.

“Thought we could get some takeout,” he murmurs against the top of your head, pressing a kiss there right on the crown, “Watch some trashy TV.”

“Mmhm,” you agree into the patch of skin where his neck becomes his shoulder; the place he always seems to smell the best; the most _Jensen_. He pulls away slightly, using his chin to tap against your forehead to encourage you to look up.

“Hey,” he prompts, and you drag your eyes to his.  “You ok?”  Those little crows-feet that line his eyes are there, like always, but so are lines of worry. They run deep across his forehead and bend his eyebrows downward to you, and you hate yourself for making a burden out of yourself.  

“I’m fine.”  You let yourself lean back in his hold, clasping the back of his neck in both hands and trailing your thumbs across the soft downy hairs there.  You know you answered too quickly, the lie a little too automatic, so you try to give him your best smile.  “Just a little tired.”  

Maybe a kiss might distract him?  You move in close and press your lips against his soft ones which tentatively kiss you back. A quiet hum of contentment rumbles at the base of his throat, and when you pull away Jensen looks mollified, his sweet smile reappearing and making your heart skip.

“Menus are in the drawer,” you remind him, as if you need to.  There’s no need to tell him your order, he knows it well by now.  Little ol’ predictable you. “I just gotta go to the bathroom.” And hide the evidence.  

He’s shucking out of his jacket and almost turning away when you clock his eyes flicking downward and coming to rest on your arm, and it’s only then that you realise you’ve been unconsciously holding it; squeezing your wrist to try and ease the throbbing ache. You let go instantly.

“You hurt yourself?” Jensen’s voice is laced with concern as he takes hold of your wrist faster than you can put it behind your back, trying to hide the blood stains that have slowly seeped through your sleeve without you realising.  Your pulse starts to accelerate, panicky and embarrassed, not wanting him to see but unable to pull yourself away.

“No… Yeah,” you stutter, shrugging your shoulders as he frowns down at the grey cotton that’s streaked with red, “It’s fine, I just-“

“Let me see.”  It’s a gentle request but a firm one, one that closes your mouth and halts your excuses.  You give a tiny nod, cheeks burning with shame and feeling sick to your stomach as Jensen cautiously pushes back your sleeve to reveal three angry horizontal cuts across your foremen, near the bend of your elbow.  They’re still bleeding a little, any chance they had to start clotting wiped away by the material of your top as he’d rolled it up.  

You don’t really want to, but you can’t help but look at Jensen’s face for a reaction; for him to be repulsed or horrified or angry or… something.  But he just looks, eyes flicking across the inside of your arm from one cut to the other with nothing but concern.  He moistens his bottom lip, the only noticeable reaction from him being a small sigh.  

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out. You’re not sure why you’re sorry, it’s not him you’ve hurt, but you’re sorry all the same.  Maybe you’re just sorry someone as wonderful as him has to deal with a mess like you.  “I just… there was this woman today on the phone, this customer.  She wouldn’t stop yelling at me and everyone in the office could hear it, Jay.”

Jensen’s thumb starts to rub soothingly at the pulse point on your wrist, silent but patiently waiting as you fall apart.  “And then my boss came over and started talking about how we need to practice ‘deescalating’, right there, and I was so embarrassed.”  You start to cry again, salty tears making Jensen look blurry around the edges.  “So fucking embarrassed.”  They’re hot as they slide down your cheeks, Jensen’s touch cool as he wipes them away.

“I just wanted not to feel for a while…” You shrug loosely, pushing away the rest of your tears with your other sleeve and sniffing hard.  “Or feel something else.  I don’t know.”  You look down the to the floor, staring at your bare feet, waiting for a reaction once again, waiting for Jensen to tell you how stupid and irrational and irresponsible you’ve been.  He doesn’t.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” He takes your hand, encasing it in his own as he leads you back to the bathroom, switching on lights as he goes. You allow yourself to be led, wondering how Jensen got to be so good and kind as he is as he sits you down on the closed toilet seat.  

“Was this clean?” he asks softly as he up the razor you’d left on the sink.  Your cheeks flush with embarrassment again, answering a yes as you look down at your hands in your lap.  He throws it in the trash then starts to run the faucet, filling the sink with warm water and finding out a clean face cloth.  “You have a first-aid kit?”

“Kitchen cupboard, top left.”  He’s gone for less than a minute, bringing back with him a dark green box that you know is full of band-aids, antiseptic cream, painkillers and the like.  To your equal surprise and chagrin Jensen kneels in front of you, opening up the box beside him and setting to work, and even though he’s on his knees his tall stature keeps you almost eye to eye – or at least it would if you could look at him for more than a second at a time.  

“You don’t have to do this,” you tell him softly as he takes a hold of your hand and places it palm up along your thigh, exposing the offending wounds.  

“Yes I do.”  Jensen’s not really a man of many words, hasn’t been the entire time you’ve been blessed to know him, and true to form he falls silent again, concentrating hard on his task instead.  He cleans your cuts with a gentleness you never knew he possessed, even gentler still when you wince when the warm water makes them sting anew.  

You try your best not to focus on the pain – not to focus on anything at all, really – allowing yourself to become mesmerised watching Jensen’s hands do their work.  He has such lovely hands; so big, so strong yet so nimble.  It’s almost unfair the amount of things Jensen can turn his hands to, whether it’s playing the guitar, loading a gun or lavishing you with his loving caress.  Watching the tendons in his fingers flex and bend as he wraps a clean bandage around your forearm you question once again what you could ever have done to deserve him.  

“There.”  The dressing sufficiently secured Jensen rises to his feet, taking both your hands and pulling you up with him and into a tender kiss. He cups your cheek, thumb moving across your cheekbone as he nestles your lips between his own and closes the gap between your bodies with a single step.  You sigh as his mouth moves on, placing kiss after kiss to your cheek and your jaw, gasping when he lifts your arm to place a single kiss against the dressings there.  

“You’re too good to me,” you tell him as Jensen places one last single kiss to the tip of your nose, his kindness so overwhelming that you’re feeling near tears again.  He just smiles a crooked smile, corners of his eyes crinkling.

“Let’s go to bed.”  

“Ok.”  He leads you all the way there, and once you’re stood at the foot of your bed Jensen carefully undresses you, mindful not to knock anything as he lifts your t-shirt off and over your head.  None of his actions are lustful, and the eyes that drift over your body are nothing but loving, but you still can’t stop the hairs on your arms from rising and your breath from hitching as he slips your bra straps from your shoulders.  

You’re not naked for long; Jensen dresses you like some sort of precious doll into your pyjama bottoms and baggy t-shirt before ushering you into bed, following suit soon after.  He cocoons your body with his, dressed only in his t-shirt and boxers, and encircles you in his arms, big spoon through and through.  You’re more than happy to be held, tucking your sore arm close to your chest and enjoying this quiet embrace in the dark and almost smiling when you feel his nose nuzzle into your hair and inhale.  

A few minutes have passed before you can bring yourself to break the peacefulness.  

“Jensen?” you ask softly, wondering if he might’ve fallen asleep.

“Hmm?”  You pause, chewing on your bottom lip then shift a little in his arms.  

“Why aren’t you mad?” Jensen sighs heavily, warm breath tickling the back of your neck, and pauses before he speaks.  

“Do I wish you hadn’t hurt yourself?  Of course.” You swallow the guilty feeling that courses through you, rising up from your stomach and lumping at the back of your throat. “But I’m not mad.  What good would being mad at you do?”

“I don’t know,” you mumble, “I’d be mad at me.”  

“The only people I’m mad at are the people that made you feel bad enough to take it out on yourself like this,” Jensen replies, taking hold of one of your hands and entwining your fingers through his.  “You ever feel like this again I want you to call me, ok?”  You start to shake your head.

“You’re busy, I don’t want to bother you with-“

“You are _never_ a bother to me,” he disagrees fiercely, pushing himself up on an elbow to peer down at you in the dark, “You hear me?”  You can’t help but smile as that nasty, guilty feeling gets pushed back by something much warmer and brighter blooming in your chest, and Jensen’s stubborn expression ends up softening too when he sees you looking happier – more like yourself.  

“I hear you.”  

“Good.”  He leans down to place a kiss on your forehead and then settles back behind you, the mattress groaning quietly under his weight.  “Now go to sleep.”  

“Yes-sir.”  You must be feeling more yourself to be sassing him and you hear Jensen chuckle softly behind you, squeezing your hand in his.  “Jay?”

“Hmm.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too, baby.”


End file.
